


Don’t Talk To Me

by Ih8h8hihobih8nonibibibibibibib



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ih8h8hihobih8nonibibibibibibib/pseuds/Ih8h8hihobih8nonibibibibibibib
Summary: I’m bored, this is for a friend, I hope it’s kinda wholesome. Enjoy.
Relationships: Marshall Winthrop & Randolph Bell, Marshall Winthrop/Randolph Bell
Kudos: 3





	Don’t Talk To Me

"Not everything's about you Bell, that's something you seem to have a hard time understanding." That statement reverberated through Bell's head. It was an off-handed comment, obviously an attempt on Marshall's part to belittle him. Bell hated to admit that it had worked. Like father like son, Bell thought to himself. Both a royal pain in his ass. Bell had attempted to get some work done after that, but had been too frustrated. So he settled on looking out the window of the plane. Watching as the clouds passed by, he hasn't spoken to Marshall the whole time. Had even adimittly avoided eye contact with the man. This stupid, Randoloh thought to himself. Sighing as he did. He was a grown man, and yet he was handling the situation like an embarrassed teenage girl. He needed a drink. Bell stood up from his seat, looking at the table in front of him as he still attempted not to look at Marshall. He didn't want to interact at all, he just wanted a drink. Bell swiftly walked to the back of the plane, grabbing a bottle of bourbon from the bottom shelf and pouring himself a glass of the brown liquid. All he wanted was to go home, drink, finish some paperwork, drink, and go to bed. He figured there was no problem in getting started early on at least one of the items. When Bell deemed that the amount he had poured was sufficient. He placed the bottle of bourbon back on the shelf, before grabbing his now full glass and moving back over to his chair. Marshall was still sitting in the same chair as when they had taken off. But he seemed, off. As Bell walked by, he couldn't help but glance at the man, furrowing his brows as he noticed a few things. Marshall's shoulders, which were usually rolled back and straight. Were slumped forward, pulling him away from the seat. His usually calm and determined expression, was replaced by a small frown. Plastered solemnly across his face. But the most concerning of all was his skin. Although usually slightly pale in appearance, its color had drastically changed. Going from a cream white, to practically the color of a sheet of paper. Bell couldn't help but stop next to the man, attempting to get a better look at him. Marshall seemed to notice the action, and turn to look at Bell. “Yes Bell, what can I help you with?” The moment Marshall turned and asked the question, Bell could tell something was definitely wrong. Bell pushed his dislike of the man aside as his medical instincts kicked in. “Do you feel alright Marshall?” Marshall quirked a brow at Bell's question. “I feel fine Randolph. Now if you wouldn't mind, i'd like to get some rest. I've had a long day.” Marshall lightly cleared his throat as he finished his statement. Glaring at Bell as he did. Bell smiled, realising that his concern was misplaced. The devil can't get sick, he thought to himself. “Well, have a nice nap.” Bell commented pointedly, smirking at Marshall. Bell gripped his glass as turbulence seemed to hit the pane, a small bump causing it to shake. Bell didn't mind, he'd been on enough flights to get used to the shakes. Marshall grimaced at the movement, gasping lightly. But quickly regaining his composure. But the slight movements don't go unnoticed as Bell continued to eye the man in front of him. Bell knew the better option was to leave the man aone, he was clearly unappreciative of Bell's concern for him. But something seemed seriously wrong. “Marshall are you in pain?” Bell questioned calmly. Marshall's eyes moved up to meet Bell's own. Marshall licked his lips as he considered the question. “Just a little discomfort, nothing to worry about-” But Marshall was cut short as another shake rocked the plane. Causing him to yelp and squeeze his eyes shut, one of his hands shooting down to grab at his stomach. Bell immediately placed his glass on the small counter next to them and kneeled down. His doctoral instinct taking over as he began examining Marshall. "Where does it hurt!?" Bell asked worriedly. All the anger towards the man disappearing in a moment at the pained gasps and movements. Marshall jumped slightly at the rapid movement, gasping as Bell approached him. “What are you?-” Marshall couldn't finish his question as Bell lightly thrust his fingers against the man's neck. Although gentle in touch, Marshall still gasped at the sudden contact. Bell's cold fingers pushing against Marshall's pulsing skin. Bell lightly flicked his wrist up to look at his watch. Counting the beats of Marshall's heart, against the seconds on his watch. Too fast, he thought. "Where exactly does it hurt?" Bell asked, moving his hands down to Marshall's stomach. Marshall attempted to push Bell's hands away as they made contact with his stomach. But he was seemingly too late as when Bell pushed against him, Marshall cried out. Pain shooting its way through his body. Bell noted the reaction and quickly removed his hands. Looking up at Marshall. "Sorry, I had to check." Marshall pushed his head against the seat, trying to breathe through the sudden pain. Bell grimaced at the harsh reaction. There was something very wrong with him. "Marshall you have abdominal pain and an elevated heart rate. Do you feel nauseous?" Bell questioned lightly, leaning against Marshall's seat. Marshall swallowed at the question, giving slight couch as he found nothing to swallow. There was no point in fighting it anymore, Bell knew there was something wrong. He might as well tell a doctor if he was going to tell anyone, even if that doctor was a pain in his ass. "Yes." Bell frowned at the statement, he lightly pushed himself off the chair and reached his hands up to Marshall's neck. "Is your mouth dry?" Bell questioned. Marshall gave a small nod. Bell continued to examine the man, before reaching his hand up and placing the back of his fingers on Marshall's forehead. Bell frowned as heat pushed through them. "You're running a temperature." Bell sighed, pulling his hand away from the man. Placing it against the chair once more as he began to run through possible explanations. "Are you hungry?" Bell asked suddenly, Marshall shook his head. "No. To be frank, I feel like vomiting." Bell nodded at the statement, "Okay. Marshall, I think you may have food poisoning." Marshall quirked a brow at the statement. Bell followed the reaction and continued on, "What did you eat?" Marshall swallowed once more, finding that his mouth was still extremely dry. Bell noted the action and the small grimace following it. Bell stood up, turning to look for the flight attendant. "Sarah?" Bell called out. The woman's head popped out from behind one of the wooden walls, "Yes Doctor Bell?" She asked calmly. Bell smiled, moving over to the woman, "Mr Winthrop appears to be ill, I need you to get me some water and a blanket; as well as a pillow and a bucket. I need you to ask the pilot how far we are from Atlanta in case we need to make an emergency landing. Can you do that?" The girl followed each question rather quickly, nodding as she said. "Ofcourse." Bell nodded, "Thank you." Sarah rushed off in another direction as Bell calmly walked back over to Marshall, kneeling beside the man once more. "Marshall turned to look at Bell as soon as he did. Eyeing the man once more. "Sorry." Bell said, "I noticed you were dehydrated so I asked Sarah to get you water. But again, what did you eat?" Marshall nodded at the words, whispering a quiet "thank you" before continuing. "Eggs, bacon, sushi, shrimp-" "Wait." Bell interjected, "Go back. Did you say sushi?" Marshall nodded, "Yes." Bell sighed. "Its very likely you got an illness from the raw fish. Are you still nauseous?" Bell questioned. Marshall nodded his head lightly. "Yes." Bell frowned, "On a scale of 1 to 10 how bad is it?" Bell asked. Marshall closed his eyes and swallowed dryly. "Uumm. I think an 8. It feels like the world is spinning." He whispered quietly. Bell nodded at the words, reaching out once more and lightly placing his hand against Marshall's forehead to check his temperature. Still very warm, seemingly worse than before. "Here you go." Bell snapped out of his thoughts at the words, the woman, Sarah, had gathered all the items Bell had requested and brought them over. Bell smiled, grasping the objects from her grasp. "Thank you." Bell said. The woman nodded, the pilot said well be there in 2 hours." Bell nodded at the words, "Thank you." Sarah nodded, "Ofcourse, just let me know if there's anything you two need." Sarah smiled, Marshall smirked at the words. "Ofcourse, thank you Sarah." He said hoarsely, Sarah nodded. Giving a quick glance at Marshall, before turning and walking towards the cabin. "Alright Marshall, here." Bell said, unscrewing the cap of bottled water Sarah had handed him. Marshall grimaced at the action, eyeing the bottle in Bell's hands as a pang of nausea ran through him. Bell sighed at the expression. "I know you're nauseous and consuming anything makes you want to vomit. I would give you saline but I can't, and you need to stay hydrated. I just want you to drink this now to try and flush this out of your body, then I'm going to have you lie down and get some rest until we land. Alright?" Bell said kindly. Bell couldn't help himself as concern rose in him. He didn't like Marshall but the idea of something bad happening to him wasn't something Bell wanted. Bell knew with the lack of treatment available and obvious discomfort Marshall was in, that this most certainly was not an ideal situation. He needed to get fluids into Marshall and hope that his fever would come down with some rest. Marshall nodded at Bell's words. Bell smiled, lightly pushing the bottle into Marshall's hands. Waiting as the man's fingers slowly curled around it before releasing. Then Bell turned to the rest of the items and began making a small cot on the ground. Bell turned every so often to check if Marshall was doing as told. The man was almost as stubborn as him, and Randolph had been informed that he was rather stubborn. Bell continued to set up his items until he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Bell looked up to find Marshall half way out of his chair, gripping the now half empty bottle of water Randolph had given him as his body shook from the effort. Bell furrowed his brows, "Marshall what are you doing!? Sit back down!-" Bell was cutoff as Marshall interjected. "Thank you Randolph but I am perfectly fine- aagghh" Marshall was cut short as pain shot through him once more, this time its intensity even greater than before. Marshall couldn't help it as he doubled over, both his arms coming down to grab at his stomach. The force of the move knocking the water bottle out of Marshall's hands, its contents spilling across the floor a few feet away. Bell watched as all at once each thing happened, until Marshall began to tip forward. His legs collapsing under him in an instant. "Marshall?!" Bell rushed forward, reaching the injured man just in time to grab at his torso. Shoving his arms under Marshall's own and catching the man before he could hit the ground. Marshall gasped at the pressure on his torso, just barely attempting to get away from Bell. But Bell held firm, knowing that the only thing between Marshall, and a concussion from an arm rest. Was him. Bell began to lightly lower the man onto the small cot he had made, gently laying him across the floor. But no matter how slow and calm his movements were, he felt panic rise in him. “Marshall?! Marshall I need you to answer me!” Bell exclaimed. Lowering the remainder of Marshall’s body down before gently lowering his head onto the pillow. Marshall's head lolled to the side as Bell slipped his hand out from behind it, eliciting a silent moan from Marshall. Bell felt a small amount of relief at the reaction, he was awake. "Marshall? Marshall can you hear me?" Bell questioned. Marshall grimaced in return, his arms weakly coming to wrap around his stomach before a violent tremor ran through his body. "Randolph?" Marshall whispered hoarsely. Bell couldn't help himself as his hand came down to grasp Marshall's own. Attempting to give the man a small amount of comfort. "I'm here." He said quietly. Giving Marshall's hand a light squeeze. Marshall's eyes were closed, but his head tilted towards bell ever so slightly. Before another harsh tremor racked the mans body. "I'm cold." Marshall choked, his jaw lightly clenching as he did. Bell frowned, leaning forward and gently placing his hand against Marshall's forehead. Heat pulsed against his fingers, warming his hand to a point that nearly overwhelmed him. "Your fever's too high." Bell sighed into the air. Frowning as he lowered his hand from Marshall's forehead. Bell felt as Marshall's hand squeezed his own. The other mans face contorting as pain seemed to pass through him. Bell squeezed back, making sure Marshall knew he was there. It was clear the pain was increasing, as well as the fever. This food poisoning was definitely an aggressive one. There was no time to make it to Chastain. "Sarah!" Bell called over his shoulder, waiting as he heard the clacks of footsteps approaching waiting only a moment as the flight attendant appeared behind one of the walls. "Yes Doctor Bell?" She questioned lightly, her eyes going wide at the sight of her boss on the ground. "Bell ignored the young woman's reaction and continued to address the young woman. "I need you to tell the pilot that we have to make an emergency landing." Bell said grimly. The womans face dropped, "But earlier the Captain said that it would just be a few more hours-" Bell felt rage rise in him at the words and couldn't help it as he yelled out. "WELL HOW ABOUT YOU TELL THE CAPTAIN THAT HIS BOSS COULD DIE FROM FOOD POISONING IF HE DOESN'T LAND THE PLANE! SO TELL HIM TO GET OFF HIS ASS AND LAND THIS PLANE AT THE NEAREST AIRPORT OR SO HELP ME GOD! MARSHALL WINTHROP WILL NOT BE THE ONLY PERSON IN NEED OF MEDICAL ATTENTION!" The woman jumped at the words, nodding quickly before whispering a quiet "of course" and scurrying back to the cockpit. Bell clenched his jaw as his anger slowly dissipated, calming himself as best he could. Bell felt as Marshall squeezed his hand once more, releasing a silent gasp as he did. Bell squeezed his hand back, giving a small smile before whispering. "It's alright, we're going to land and get you help. Just hang on a little longer." It about 20 minutes to land the plane in a near by airport. Bell elected not to move Marshall during the debacle, deciding that the floor was better than even attempting to put him in a chair. Bell sat and squeezed Marshall's hands as the plane descended. Calmly telling the man it was "Going to be alright" and that, "Help is on the way." The moment they landed, Bell felt relief wash over him as multiple paramedics entered the plane with much needed equipment. Kneeling down and taking Marshall's vitals before loading him onto a gurney. Marshall had fully lost consciousness just 20 minutes earlier, and his heart rate had dropped. Causing Bell to slightly panic and once again yell at the pilot to, "go faster." But once the paramedics took Marshall's arm and placed a catheter, he felt slightly relieved as fluids were forced into his body. Dehydration was another big issue with food poisoning. Bell followed the paramedics as they carried Marshall out of the plane, carrying him towards the ambulance. "HEY!" Bell turned at the noise, watching as who he presumed to be the pilot angrily walking down the stairs, with his copilot in tow. Who seemed rather alarmed. "YOU CANT JUST TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!" The pilot yelled, walking off the steps and towards Bell. Bell cocked a brow, did he just tell me. What I can and cannot do? The same man who blatantly ignored a medical emergency, is going to tell me off? Bell licked his lips and shifted his hands to hips, walking towards the aggravated pilot. An expression of anger shifting onto his own face as he looked at the man. "You wouldn't land your plane, although a DOCTOR." Bell emphasized. "Told you there was a medical emergency. So if I were you I'd shut my mouth air boy." Air boy, that's where Bell thinks he messed up. Because a second later, a his head was flicking back while a sharp pain exploded across his nose. Great he thought, first embarrassment by the hands of Marshall Winthrop, then stress from having to save Marshall, then a fist fight. This day couldnt get any better. Bell quickly regained his balance and raised his fists. They were going to need another ambulance.

Marshall squinted as he woke, a dull ache covering his whole body. God why did he hurt so much. Marshall took a deep breath, attempting to get rid of the ache. The smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils instantly, Marshall gagged at the smell. Coughing lightly into the air, before opening his eyes. He was in, a hospital? Why was he? Memories of the previous hours rushed back. The aches, the shifting, Bell approaching him, him collapsing, paramedics entering the plane. Oh god he'd passed out. Great, now he technically owed his life. To Randoloh Bell. This day couldnt get any better. Buzzing interrupted Marshall's grumbling, causing Marshall to glance at the sound. Oh thank god, he thought. At Least he had his phone. Marshall stretched awkwardly toward the phone, grimacing as his body protested. He grabbed the vibrating phone and flipped it over, glancing at the name. Marshall frowned lightly, before lifting the phone to point it at his face. Conrad's face appeared on the screen, still clad in his scrubs from work. "Yes Conrad." Marshall answered. "Conrad sighed, "You haven't been answering your phone, and your plane was supposed to arrive hours ago. I got worried." Marshall huffed at the words. "I didn't realise you cared." Marshall retorted. Earning him a small smirk from Conrad. "Yeah well what can I say, your my dad." Conrad paused lightly, before furrowing his eyes and squinting. "Dad are you? Are you in a hospital gown?" Marshall nodded, "Yes son. It been an interesting evening." Conrad furrowed his brows again, "What happened?" Marshall brought his hand up to rub at his forehead, processing Conrad's question. What had happened he thought. "I'm not 100 percent sure. I remember feeling off, but have no idea what was wrong." Marshall thought harder, before jumping as the curtain beside his bed pulled open. "You had food poisoning." Marshall turned, looking up at the voice. Before promptly bursting into laughter. Nearly dropping Conrad in the process. "Dad?' Conrad asked. "Dad what is it?" Marshall continued to laugh, feeling his ribs shake and his ache intensify. But he couldn't help himself. Marshall pulled the phone back up. "Something happened to Bell." Marshall gasped, as a few more laughs passed his lips. Before turning the phone and pointing it towards Bell. Marshall heard Conrad spurt a little at the sight of Bell. Bell was clad in his suit pants, but had taken off his jacket and dress shirt. Staying in only his undershirt. But the behiveling part was definitely his face. Bells nose was clearly broken, some cotton balls had been shoved inside in an attempt to stem some bleeding. His left eye was swollen and bruised, while his cheek looked rather the same. But over all, he looked rather amusing; and the packed and overflowing cotton balls were not helping. Bell grunted at the reaction. "I'm glad you find this amusing Marshall." Bell glanced sharply towards the phone in Marshall's hands. "Hawkins." Bell couldn't help but clench his jaw as Conrad and Marshall continued to chuckle, recoiling slightly as pain shot through his cheek. "HGH-HGH-You look like an oompa loompa!" Conrad all but spluttered. Flinging his head back as another chuckle erupted from his chest. Bell closed his eyes before releasing a long sigh. "I hate all of you." Marshall couldn't help but join in on his son, right before saying. "This was totally worth getting food poisoning."

Bonus:  
Marshall laid in the bed, looking out the window of his room. "Does this mean we're friends?" Marshall asked aloud, continuing to stare out the window. "No." Came Bell's calm reply. Marshall squinted slightly, turning to look at Bell. They exchanged a glance before Marshall asked, "Colleagues?" Bell eyed the man, biting the side of his cheek and lightly furrowing his brows. "Yeah, colleagues." Marshall shifted again, turning back towards the window. Smiling lightly, "You're still an idiot though." Marshall commented. Bell couldn't help it as a small smirk stretched across his bruised and battered face. He lightly commented back, "You too."


End file.
